


The Edge of Glory

by spacemonkey



Category: U2 (Band)
Genre: Bono is a Little Shit, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:41:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25204117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: It was a game they played from time to time, although sometimes Edge wondered if there was more to it. Set almost immediately after ZooTV tour concluded.
Relationships: Bono/The Edge (U2)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 11





	The Edge of Glory

**Author's Note:**

> *taps mike* Is this thing on? Haahaa...life has been insanity since I last posted U2, INSANITY, but here, have something filthy and long, because yes. This is actually a fic I wrote last year but never posted, and has been significantly reworked and turned out to be a lot of fun. Title comes from Lady Gaga song of the same name, which I've been dying to use for fucking years and finally feel it fits. Love to all xx

The night was his to enjoy, and Edge had big, big plans on how he might go about making it as satisfying as he possibly could without another person to help pass the time. Those big plans involved a light dinner accompanied by a drop or two of an alcoholic beverage of some kind, then climbing into his giant, empty bed to spend some quality alone time watching amateur pornography on the television.

It was how a night post-tour was _meant_ to go, unless, of course, someone happened to come along and suggest a far better idea, one that required the participation of two people. But it was getting late in the day, and while the phone had made some serious noise during the past forty-eight hours, it was yet to offer up the one voice that Edge had been waiting to hear. Maybe tomorrow he would have better luck, but for now, he still had his hand to keep him company. Which was fine, completely fine—that hand knew him on an incredibly intimate level, after all. It knew exactly how to make him happy.

The night was his to enjoy, and Edge was adamant he would do just that and go to bed spent, vaguely satisfied, and alone. The only question that remained was which film to select to help him along the way. There were a few options to choose from, none of which were exactly what he needed for visual accompaniment, but when hard times came knocking a person could either give in and let it consume them, or do the best they could with what life had handed their way. And Edge was no quitter, that was for sure.

Naturally, the choice turned out to be easy after putting some actual thought toward the matter. He loved women, loved their feminine form, their presence in his life, everything about them, really, but tonight he was after something a bit more masculine. Thankfully, he had just the video for that.

He had just finished locating a corkscrew when the phone started to ring, an interruption that Edge wasn’t really in the mood for. He answered it nonetheless, hoping that whoever was on the other side would be content with a short, sharp and shiny conversation.

It was Bono, a man who had never once in his life understood brevity when it came to talking, but that was okay—an extended interruption from him was more than welcome. “Have I caught you at a bad time?” he asked. “What are your plans tonight?”

“Nothing, no plans at all.”

“Oh, you’re a terrible liar, The Edge, you know that, right?”

“I am not.”

“Ah! Lying again. I can see right through you.” His voice was warm, yet something still felt off, in a way that Edge couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Alone tonight?”

“Yup.”

“After some company?”

It was, quite frankly, a stupid question. Of course he wanted some company. “If you’re offering it.”

“This is me offering it. Though I’m sorry to say it won’t just be us. I spotted a couple of eejits on the side of the road this afternoon and took pity on them, so they’ll be joining us for a time.”

“Which couple of eejits?”

“The two that don’t help us make any fucking money.”

“Oh, right.” Edge smiled. “I suppose I can deal with that.”

“Good. Dinner and a show?”

“What sort of show?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bono said in his most whimsical tone. If Edge didn’t know any better, he would think that Bono was trying too hard. Something was up. But what? “Why don’t we figure that one out after a few drinks and some respectable food? See where the night takes us, hmm?”

“You seem in a good mood.”

“Do I? Why do you think that is?”

“You’re up to something.”

“You’re completely paranoid, Edge. I’m just enjoying this lovely dynamic between us while it lasts, as it were.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Can you pick us up on the way? I’m not actually sure where we’re going yet, but I’m positive we’ll figure it out together.”

“Sure, but—”

“Hey, Edge?”

Edge paused. Already there was a funny feeling creeping up his spine, determined to come whisper in his ear a suggestion of exactly what Bono was looking to tell him. Though it seemed as though there was a good chance that feeling was completely off base, it might also be right. Who could know? Only Bono, who was currently waiting patiently to spill the beans. “Yes, Bono?”

“I need it.” And there it was, confirmation of what Edge had already partially suspected. “I need it badly.”

It was a game they played. For shits and giggles, apparently—at least, that was how it started. _See how far we can take it_ , Bono had suggested with his most mischievous smile. _But why_ , Edge had wanted to ask. He’d bit his tongue, however, as this little game? It sure had turned out to be fun. And a real eyeopener, if he had to be honest. Was it still a game? Perhaps, perhaps not. Had it ever been just that? God only knows. From the get-go, he’d suspected there was more to it, a certain je ne sais quoi bubbling below the surface, yet delving into that required a specific mindset that Edge had neither initially nor currently wanted to possess. They were having a grand old sexy time, and that’s all that really mattered, truth be told.

“What do you need?”

“You.”

“I bet you’d like to come home with me tonight.”

“Of course.”

“I’m not going to make promises, B, we’ll see how dinner goes. If you’re good—”

“I’m always—”

“You’re _rarely_ good, and you know it,” Edge cut in, going for stern but just missing the mark. “Now go get ready, I’ll be there in a minute.” He hung up before the response could come, stood there for a few moments to try and find a little bit of Zen, then went and put the bottle of wine back in the fridge, quite happy to leave it for later.

It was a quick process from there—jeans, shoes, a clean shirt and coat, slap of aftershave and a hurried brush of his teeth, and he was done, ready for the night, and out the door in under ten minutes. The drive passed in seconds, forgotten as soon as it was over, and he arrived hopeful that he would be greeted first by Bono so they could have at least one moment of privacy straight up, but instead had to settle for Gavin, who was smiling as though they hadn’t seen one another in twenty-odd years.

“The Edge? Is that you?” he exclaimed as Edge got out of the car, squinting like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, how long has it been?”

“Too long, too long,” Edge replied, wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the chilly early evening air. Sometimes it was just easier to play along. “Six whole days, it’s simply terrible. I’d almost forgotten what you looked like.”

“Lucky you,” came Bono’s voice, a most welcome sound. He was standing in the doorway, Edge found upon glancing up, looking like a treat all in black, wearing a smile that might have appeared warm to anyone who hadn’t had the pleasure of sleeping with him. All Edge could see was want, need and a promise, hidden behind bright eyes and curved lips. “I’ve been trying for years to get that face out of my head, but it keeps coming back to haunt me at the most inopportune moments.”

“What a coincidence,” Gavin retorted as Bono sauntered towards them. “Here I am, doing my best to forget your ugly mug, only for it to keep showing up on the cover of _Rolling Stone_. I’m _this_ close to cancelling my subscription, and it’s all your fault, fucker.”

“I know this might be hard for you to understand, given your level of fame compared to mine is . . . well, you know, but when you’re a household name people actually care about what you have to say and always want more and more, and _Rolling Stone_ understands this and accommodates the needs of the many by constantly chasing me around the world to ask my opinion on only the most important matters. It’s the price of celebrity, Gav, count yourself lucky you’ll never reach such heights.”

“Impressive,” Gavin deadpanned. “I don’t think you could be more up your own arse if you tried.”

“I don’t know about that. I think he could surprise you,” Edge cut in, biting back his smile when they both turned to face him, Bono smirking, Gavin shaking his head.

“If you two aren’t going to commit to telling me full and explicit details of what you get up to when left alone, then I don’t want to hear it. You’re just teasing me at this point, dangling shit above my head.”

“You’d love to be a fly on the wall, wouldn’t you?” Bono said with a wink before turning back to Edge. “Shall we get this show on the road?”

“Where’s Guggi?”

“Oh, right . . . forgot about that one. He’s somewhere in the house, I think.” Bono screwed up his face. “Helping Ali maybe?” In the pause that followed he gave Edge a look that probably couldn’t have been any less subtle if he tried. “Gav, could you be a dear—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go get him,” Gavin muttered. “I’ll be sure to take my time.” They watched him walk off, waiting until the front door closed behind him before turning to look at one another.

For a moment they just stood there, grinning like a couple of eejits. And then Edge remembered himself, the situation, and the role he was supposed to be playing.

“Get in the car,” he directed. No hesitation came from Bono—he simply nodded then started towards the passenger side, apparently in a mood to please. It was exactly how he was supposed to be, no talking back, no fuss, just needy and agreeable. Edge waited until Bono was settled before sliding in behind the wheel. The car door slammed shut at his side, and they were finally alone, closed in from the world, if only for a couple of minutes. Edge wanted longer, of course, but it wasn’t the time to be greedy, not yet. He could make it through dinner quite happily on one kiss, one touch, one promise of what was to come.

Their eyes met, a slow smile graced Bono’s face, and then he started to move, leaning in until his cheek was resting against Edge’s shoulder, his breath rushing out from his lungs. “Edge,” he whispered.

His hair was soft against Edge’s fingers, freshly washed. His palm knew exactly where to land on Edge’s thigh, high up where it could easily keep on sliding higher still. He was soft yet hard, smelling like springtime, already thrumming with electricity beneath the surface of his skin. No bullshit, no playing hard to get. He wanted it. He _needed_ it. This Bono had been terribly missed. “Baby.”

Edge drew his chin up with a single finger and kissed him, gently at first—their lips brushing, finding, and then knowing—before pulling him closer still and rediscovering his tongue, his teeth, his jaw. It was always so tempting to leave a mark somewhere, to suck and suck against his skin until his hips started to buck, and some nights, when the urge was just too great and perhaps Edge was feeling a bit territorial, a bit jealous, he had given in to temptation. He wanted to do the same tonight, and he almost did when his mouth found Bono’s neck and a moan emerged to break through the silence between them, but there just wasn’t enough time.

There was always after. They had the whole damn night together, after all, and Edge was determined to make the most of it.

They broke apart before Bono appeared ready, both turning their attention to the front door to find the coast still clear, at least for a little while longer. When Bono turned back he had that look on his face, the one that always made Edge want to lose control. “What do you want?” he asked.

“You,” came Bono’s answer, predictable yet still enough to send a small shiver up and down Edge’s spine all the same.

“You want to make me come?”

“Of course.”

“You want to suck me, baby?”

No answer came, not verbally, anyway. Instead, Bono smiled, again checking the front door before glancing back, his focus turning not to Edge’s face, but lower, much lower. And then he started to move, leaning towards Edge until he was close enough to duck his head and end up right where he wanted to be.

It was a risky move, and there wasn’t nearly enough time, yet Edge humoured him all the same, parting his legs a bit more to give Bono better access.

He had always found that there was something beautiful about seeing a head between his thighs, the sight alone enough to get him going even before that first touch. He hissed out a breath when Bono’s mouth found his bulge, not to suck but merely kiss, once, three times before catching the zipper tab between his teeth. A single tug was all that Bono seemed to have in him before he was pulling away, sitting up straight and turning his attention back to the front door, his palm coming down to touch and hold where his mouth had just been. “Do you think it’s too late to change our minds about dinner?”

Edge swallowed hard, already feeling as though they were in trouble, but did he care? Fuck no. “We could leave right now and tell them later that we got tired of waiting. I’m sure Ali would feed them.”

“She would, she feeds me all the time.”

“Not tonight.”

“No.”

“It’s my turn to do that.”

Bono shook his head, his hand sliding away and into his own lap. “Too late. Here they come.”

Sighing, Edge started the ignition. They sat there in silence for as long as it took Gavin and Guggi to reach the car—roughly as long as it takes for Pluto to make that one trip around the Solar System—smiling blandly when they slid into the back seat. “Mr Edge,” Guggi said, nodding his way.

Edge nodded back. “Mr Guggi.”

“Ali made me do the dishes while I was in there,” Gavin complained.

“Gosh, that must have been completely life-altering,” Bono mused. “How on Earth will you ever recover?”

“Years of therapy, I would think.”

“Shall we?” Edge suggested.

“We shall.”

“Where are we going?”

Bono shrugged. “Let’s go terrorize a Hewson.”

They made their way through the streets of Dublin, Gavin and Guggi quickly finding themselves caught up in a passionate and mostly light-hearted argument about . . . something to do with some television show, Edge couldn’t be sure of any solid details, as he had stopped paying attention right at the very beginning of it. He had an excuse, though. His focus was on both the road and Bono, and that was about as much as the male brain could handle at one time.

At his side, Bono seemed content to interject into the chaos in the backseat only to stir the pot a little more before settling against his seat and smiling to himself, until his gaze started to flit back and forth between the traffic and Edge. Soon enough, he stopped looking at the traffic altogether.

Edge didn’t dare glance at him for more than half a second each time—any longer and it would be out of the car with Gavin and Guggi and onto the side of the road for them, where they would have to fend for themselves for the night. And maybe Edge would be able to control himself long enough to make it back home, but it would take all his strength, and tonight, he just wasn’t feeling that strong.

What would the headline be if he and Bono were caught having sex in the backseat of this very car? Would it differ depending on what act they were in the midst of at the time? He could only assume that the headlines, like they often were, would be some sort of stupid pun based on one of their songs or albums.

Naturally, they would do some play on 'Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses?' if Bono were caught riding him—how could they resist?—but what tune might they go for if it was a blowjob being sprung? It was certainly food for thought . . . maybe _Rattle and Hum_ would be the winner there?

“Edge,” Bono spoke up. “I think you were supposed to turn back there.”

Shit. “Sorry.” Edge sighed. “I guess I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

Bono leered at him. “I’ve no doubt about that.”

Somehow, they made it without incident into the restaurant, scoring a prime table right at the back and being attended to straight away. There were many perks that came with being famous, but having immediate and constant access to incredible food was, Edge thought, right near the top of the list. Of course, the fact that Bono’s brother owned the place probably also helped matters. Life was about who you know, not what you know, and all that shite.

Edge ordered steak cooked medium and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, then suggested the same when a certain someone asked what they should have for themselves.

Bono grinned at him and then the waitress, saying, “I’ll have what he’s having, but make mine medium-rare, if you don’t mind.” He shrugged off the look that Edge sent his way. “What can I say, Edge? I know what I like.”

“You like having part of a cow practically still mooing on your plate?”

“Please, that cow is properly dead when cooked medium-rare. If I’d gone for simply rare you might have a leg to stand on here. Besides, they always overcook it when you order medium. I bet you a hundred dollars that you’re served a piece of meat tonight that could double as a murder weapon.”

“Are you offering yourself up as the target?” Edge asked, somehow managing to keep the giddiness at bay. Bono’s immediate response was to go for a smile, but when it wasn’t returned his face dropped and he slumped back in his seat with a theatrical sigh.

“I’ll be good.”

“I doubt that, but we’ll see,” Edge sneered as he turned his attention back to Gavin and Guggi, who were wearing twin expressions that said _oh fucking hell, here we go again_. “So, what have you both been up to since I saw you last?”

Quite a bit, it turned out, enough to keep Edge amused until well after their meals arrived. At his side, Bono said very little, although it didn’t look as though he was pouting, not entirely, but instead just attempting to conform to the expectation that he had placed on himself. In his mind, it seemed, the only way to be good was to keep his mouth shut—a wise idea, considering past experiences.

As it turned out, however, he just couldn’t help himself. Attention was needed, as it had been too long since the spotlight had fallen upon his head.

They were just finishing up their meal, Bono’s plate already remarkably empty, when a foot found Edge’s underneath the table. It could only belong to one person—he hoped, anyway, for as much as he loved Gavin and Guggi, the idea of them approaching him in a sexual sense was pretty alarming. He glanced over to find Bono already looking at him, the corners of his mouth quirking as his foot started its ascent. Up it went along Edge’s shin, and then down again to his foot where it lingered for a couple of rubs before starting the whole process once more.

When staring him down proved to have no effect, Edge leaned in to whisper in his ear, “We’re in public.”

“I’m well aware,” Bono whispered back, biting his lip against the look he received. His foot didn’t stop moving.

Edge leaned in once more to say, “Enough,” in his ear, and, when that didn’t work, snapped his name loud enough for the whole table to hear. It did the trick. Bono flinched in his seat, his foot quickly fleeing and his expression changing then changing again, turning to match the current climate between the two of them. Somewhere along the way, they had become _very_ good at playing the game . . . well, mostly. But tonight, Edge was feeling incredibly focused.

For a moment, he simply stared at Bono, waiting for a look, a comment or some other fuss that would require firmer action. When nothing of the sort eventuated, Edge turned his attention back to Gavin and Guggi, who had fallen silent, more interested in watching the free entertainment that was happening right in front of them than their own conversation. “They do a good meal here, don’t they?”

“Oh, for sure,” Gavin said in a voice that was a touch too bright. “Your steak especially looked perfectly cooked, Edge.”

“It was, it was, nice and juicy, definitely not hard enough to bludgeon a man with.”

“Hilarious,” Bono deadpanned. “You two should go on a comedy tour together.”

“’You two’ or U2?” Guggi asked.

“Christ almighty, can you imagine Larry trying to do stand up?” Gavin shook his head. “He’s no Seinfeld, that’s for sure.”

Bono smiled tightly, tossing his balled-up napkin onto his plate as he stood up. “More of a Lenny Bruce type character, I would think. I’m going for a piss.”

“I’ll join you,” said Edge, receiving twin smirks from across the table. “Oh, fuck off, I have to go as well, alright?”

“Alrighty, but if you’re not back in five minutes . . .” Gavin shrugged. “Assumptions are going to be made.”

Edge just rolled his eyes before standing up to follow Bono, resting one hand against the small of his back to guide him through the room. It wasn’t necessary, nor had he likely earned such a gesture, but there were some things that Edge couldn’t help but do in life. Getting away with intimately touching Bono in a way that could be perceived as just being friendly was one of those things.

Surprisingly, the bathroom turned out to be empty. It was early in the week, so there were fewer people around to occupy, but still. Rarely did they get so lucky in public. Briefly, Edge considered locking the door, but figured to do so would be just asking for trouble. If the right person were to hang around outside after trying the door and see the two of them coming out with the most innocent expressions plastered to their faces . . . well, that was how rumours started, and they didn’t need that. Edge was happy with flying under the radar, as it were.

So instead of turning the lock, he simply sent a silent prayer to the man upstairs, hoping that would be enough to ensure no interruptions came, then stepped toward one of the urinals and unzipped his fly. Next to him, Bono followed suit, and while the plan had been to ignore him completely, Edge just couldn’t help himself. He spared one quick glance Bono’s way, enough to take in the look on his face before turning back to study the wall once more.

“For someone who claims to be good, you’re being very naughty tonight.”

“It’s not on purpose,” Bono responded, pausing minutely before adding, “I promise.”

“Is that supposed to make it alright?”

“No, Edge, not at all.”

“You and your excuses, Bono.” Edge clicked his tongue. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking to be taught a lesson.”

Bono puffed up like a proud little peacock who had done everything right and therefore deserved a bit of self-satisfaction, never mind that the complete opposite was true. “You know me,” he said sweetly. “Better than I know myself, in fact.”

It was a near-impossible task not to jump him right then and there and press him up against the wall, drag the back of his pants and underwear down, and make quick work of it, fucking him hard and fast until his knees buckled, forcing sounds out of him that would make the patrons outside fear that someone was being murdered, but they would be wrong, dead wrong, as rarely was Bono more alive than when his eyes were rolling in his head, completely overwhelmed in every sense, all because of one man. _Edge_ , he would rasp only when he could, his throat raw, _EdgeEdgeEdgeEdgeohlove . . ._

Somehow, Edge managed to be strong and not give in to temptation, but it wouldn’t last. They had to leave, and soon, incredibly soon, before they ended up on the front page of all the newspapers the next morning.

He finished up and waited, the tension between them dragging his thoughts further into the gutter.

It seemed there was no limit to his depravity, as fantasies sprung up inside his mind and then were quickly replaced by even filthier ones, all featuring the man to his left being defiled in the most wonderful and imaginative ways. He didn’t dare look anywhere but the wall in front as he waited, not wanting to give Bono the satisfaction. So Edge just stood there until he heard the sound of a zipper being drawn back up, and then continued to linger in front of the urinal, his cock still in his hand, waiting.

Nothing happened. Not at first, anyway. There was extended silence as they both stood there, Bono’s breathing cutting through the still of the room. This was not how the game was supposed to be played.

“Don’t you dare make me wait,” Edge said, words that lit a fire under Bono and got him going. A quick glance was thrown towards the closed door as he sauntered over, taking Edge’s cock from his hand with the most delicate touch that he could muster. It was obvious that Bono didn’t want to let go, that he wanted more than what was on offer, but he knew—this was how it was meant to be. After a moment’s hesitation, he tucked Edge’s cock back into his underwear before quickly zipping him back up and stepping away.

When Edge turned he found Bono with that look in his eye, the one that he got when he thought he’d done something fairly remarkable and as such should be rewarded. Remarkable was pushing it, yet he still deserved something, a small gesture to keep him going until they were properly alone.

One touch was all he was given, Edge gently brushing his palm against Bono’s cheek. “Good boy,” he said, receiving a naughty grin and a kiss against his skin. He drew his hand away and headed towards the basin, Bono trailing behind. Once washed and dried Edge turned back to him and took a single step forward, then back again when the door opened.

The man cast a quick glance their way then did a double-take, his eyes widening a tad before returning to normal. This was Dublin, after all, extended fawning or being star struck was generally frowned upon, especially over the four of them. “Good night?” Bono asked him with the most charming of smiles.

“No complaints here,” the man replied, then proceeded to swiftly go and hide away in one of the stalls.

Edge waited until he heard the door lock before turning back to Bono, asking, “Do you have everything on you?” Bono nodded. “Your wallet? Nothing left on the table?” Another nod, this one more forceful.

On any other night, a smartarse response might have followed—because how _dare_ Edge assume that he was absentminded, even if he had proven himself to be that way at least a thousand times in the past—but it seemed that Bono knew better tonight. Mostly. Enough to hold his tongue and not roll his eyes, though it must have been tempting as all get out. Edge leaned in close so as not to be heard by the man in the stall, murmuring in Bono’s ear, “Go wait in the car, I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.” There was a pause as Bono looked Edge up and down, pressing his lips together so tightly that they were close to turning white. Was he trying to keep himself from using them for good? Bad? Something in between? “Keys?”

“Here.” Edge slipped the keys out of his pocket, placed them in Bono’s open palm, then mouthed _go_ before turning back to study himself in the mirror.

It wasn’t until the door had safely closed behind him that Edge also left the bathroom, heading left though he wanted to go right and fast, to catch up to Bono and do the most unspeakable things that they could imagine together, right then and there. It seemed that Edge’s mind was determined to try and trick him into becoming one half of a celebrity scandal.

He found Gavin and Guggi with their eyebrows raised his way, as though they knew the score right down to the last detail. _You’ve got no fucking idea,_ Edge wanted to say to them, _you think you do, but you never will. If you knew the things that we’ve done together, the things that I’ve done to him . . ._

“We’re leaving,” he said instead.

Guggi frowned. “But we were looking to have dessert.”

“And no one is stopping you. Bono and I are leaving, I’m sure you’ll manage to find your way home.”

“Unbelievable,” Gavin said, shaking his head. He was smiling, though, as much as he tried to hide it. “I honestly don’t know why I put up with either of you.”

“You love us.”

“Nope.”

“You do.”

“I really don’t.”

“You really do.”

“Fine, I do, despite the emotional abuse constantly being thrown my way. _Our_ way, I mean. Right, Guggi?”

Guggi just stared at him blankly before turning back to Edge. “You’re still paying, yeah?”

Edge rolled his eyes. “Everything but dessert, that’s on you.”

“Good enough. Cheers, mate.”

“Enjoy your evening,” Gavin added with a leer. Edge just shook his head then turned to go, before thinking better of it. A quick scan of the table revealed nothing of concern, though glancing underneath it did. He bent down with a long-suffering sigh, retrieved Bono’s wallet off the carpet, then held it up to show Gavin and Guggi. Gavin just shrugged. “He’s your problem, not ours.”

“No, he’s everyone’s problem,” Guggi countered.

“Not tonight he’s not.”

“True, that. I pity the poor soul who has to take him home.”

Edge smiled tightly, gave them both the finger as a goodbye, then left them behind to go sort out the bill. As an afterthought, he handed over some extra cash to take care of whatever dessert was selected, told the girl to either keep the change, pass it along to Norman as a little treat, or give it to Guggi but not Gavin. She smiled sweetly, told him to have a good night, and remained completely oblivious when Edge cheerily responded with, “That’s the plan!”

He found Bono exactly where he was meant to be, huddled up in the passenger seat with the heat on high, smiling that smile of his. He immediately switched off the radio when Edge shut the car door. Edge responded by holding up the wallet and raising his eyebrow.

“Oh.” Bono took it, chuckling lightly as he slipped it into his pocket. “Where was that?”

“Underneath the table, Bono.”

“How’d it get there?”

“A very good question. How _did_ it get there?”

“Well . . .” Bono trailed off, looking at Edge as though searching for an explanation, before ultimately shrugging. “I guess only God knows, Edge.”

“Mmhmm,” was Edge’s only response as he started the ignition. Silence filled the car until they were well on their way down the road. “I swear you’d forget your head if it weren’t screwed on.”

“Oh, I lost my head years ago,” Bono said as his palm found Edge’s thigh. “What would I do without you, love?”

“You’ll never have to find out.”

“Feeling a bit sentimental tonight?”

“I’m feeling a lot of things. You’re going to be one of them soon enough.”

“Why wait?” Bono asked, sliding his hand in between Edge’s legs. His palm knew exactly the right amount of pressure to apply, his fingers curling like they were slipping into a mould that fit only them.

“Did I give you permission to do that?”

“I cannot imagine a single circumstance where you would be mad at me for touching you there . . . unless we were in public, of course.”

“Are you trying to push my buttons? I was so sure that we would have an easy night, but—”

“ _Noo_ , we will, don’t worry.”

Edge gave him a _look_ , one that made Bono lose at least twenty percent of his self-confidence. Somehow, he became marginally smaller in his seat, a change that happened in the blink of an eye. Who knew? Maybe one day, if this music career went nowhere, he could make his mark in Hollywood. 

“You know better than to interrupt,” Edge said. Bono merely nodded, lowering his gaze as if shame were in season. “And you know I don’t enjoy snapping at you.” It was a half-truth—sometimes, Edge did. No, a lot of the time. Truthfully, he got off on it, in a way that might have made him feel guilty, had Bono not also enjoyed it just as much. “But sometimes it’s necessary, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Edge.”

“Are you going to behave tonight? Do you think you can manage that?”

“Yes, Edge,” Bono repeated, then went to pull his hand away. Edge caught it just in time, drawing it right back firmly against his crotch.

“Keep it there.”

A smile emerged to light up Bono’s face. It was always a sight that Edge looked forward to seeing, especially following. . . certain dramas. “Alright.” There was a short silence, and then Bono turned back to look at him. “Edge?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want me to get you hard?”

Edge grinned. “Yes, Bono.” It wouldn’t take much. He was already a quarter of a way there.

“Do you want me to blow you?”

“Not in the car. If we get pulled over . . . or if someone looks over when we stop . . .” he trailed off, exhaling loudly. “Just rub me like that. Just like that, baby, you know how I like it. Yeah, good, that’s good, B.”

They reached home in record time, Edge’s jeans uncomfortably tight as he stepped out of the car. It was something that he would have to live with, at least for a while, though when Bono stepped up close behind, resting his head on Edge’s shoulder as he unlocked the door, any thoughts of dragging shit out damn near fled from his mind. Somehow, he managed to catch them before they could disappear completely.

There was a process that had to happen. If Edge caved now then it would all be over in no time at all, and where was the fun in that? Plus, they both knew the roles they were meant to be playing. Giving this Bono what he wanted would teach him nothing. Nada. Absolute zilch. It was so easy for him to say _yes_ and _okay_ and _I’ll be good, I’ll try better_ only for him to forget all about it next time around. They had been here before, they both knew the score. Words worked for only a while, actions spoke volumes in comparison. Besides, this was the best way to add layers to their continuing storyline.

“There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge,” Edge said once the door was closed behind them and Bono was taking off his coat. “The corkscrew is still on the counter. I’ll be in the lounge.” He didn’t wait for the response, nor did he look Bono’s way as he left the room. He didn’t need to—it was so easy to imagine, as vivid as a photograph in his brain.

In the lounge room he turned on the heater then the television, throwing his coat on the empty chair before sitting down on the couch. He kicked his shoes off beneath the coffee table and stuffed them with his socks. After flicking through a few channels he landed on _The Graduate_ , which he supposed would hold Bono’s attention for a little while before he started to get antsy. That was assuming that he wouldn’t be antsy from the get-go, which, knowing Bono, was a very strong possibility. But with the game in play, perhaps he’d manage to keep a lid on that excitable side of his. It had happened before, after all. At least twice that Edge could remember.

It was going to be one of those _wait and see what happens_ sort of nights . . . like every night they shared, really.

A couple of minutes passed before Bono appeared, raising an eyebrow at the television as he handed Edge his glass of wine. “Oh,” he uttered. “Is this what we’re doing?”

“I figured you wouldn’t mind.” Edge shrugged. “It is one of your favourite movies, after all.”

A sigh escaped as Bono settled down on the couch. “You know me so well, don’t you, Edge?”

“I know what makes you happy.”

“You make me happy.”

“I know that. Take off your shoes.”

Bono did as he was told, then settled back, his gaze flitting between the television and Edge’s crotch. “Is that bothering you?”

“It’ll go away, don’t worry.”

“You don’t want to be hard, love?” Bono asked, shifting closer still. His hand was cool against Edge’s, his breath warm. “If you’ll let me—”

“We’re going to watch the movie quietly and enjoy our wine, B, that’s what I want to do right now. We’ll see how I feel later.”

Bono paused, studying Edge intently. “Alright,” he said instead of _bullshit_ , though it was obvious the word was on his mind. And he would have been completely on the mark if he were to throw it out there, but still. “It’s a good pick, Edge. One of my favourite movies.”

“I’ve got to give you what you want, don’t I?”

Bono merely smiled before settling back against the couch, taking a sip of his wine as he turned his focus to the screen.

They watched the film after that in silence, though _watched_ seemed like a strong word to use, considering that Edge spent most of the time firmly lost in his own mind, stuck on thoughts and fantasies about the man who was a whole four inches away. It should have been a crime to smell that fucking incredible at the end of the day. How could Edge ever concentrate on a movie when Bono was right there next to him, taunting him in his own way by doing not a thing but being himself?

“I think another drink is needed,” Edge said when a commercial hit, holding up his empty glass as though proof was needed. Bono glanced at it, then at Edge, before hauling himself from the couch. “Bring the bottle back.”

Despite a number of distractingly shiny things in the kitchen and foyer, Bono managed to follow orders, remerging a minute later with the bottle in hand. He took the offered glass from Edge, asking, “Thirsty?” while filling it.

“Very.”

“Maybe I should leave the rest of this for you then. You know,” he winked, “so you have your fill.”

His intent was clear, as they both knew Edge was easy after a few. Numerous past experiences had—regrettably—proven that. But that was not on the cards for them. Not tonight. Edge waited until the bottle had been set back down against the table to throw out a casual, “I’ll be up pissing all night if I drink that much.”

“I’ll stay up with you. I’d hate for you to be alone dealing with that.”

“You think that’s going to earn you points with me?”

“I was hoping.”

“You’re just trying to get me drunk so you can have your way.”

“Good lord, Edge, I'm completely scandalized! _My_ way? With _you_? . . . I mean, perhaps, yeah.”

“Bono,” Edge warned.

“Perhaps not. It’s the other way around, really.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“I’m yours,” Bono said with a knowing smile. “I’m all yours, love. Do whatever you want with me, we both know I’m easy.”

“Come here.”

That smile of his refused to let up as he moved, coming to straddle Edge’s lap, one hand holding the back of the couch for balance, the other still clutching the full glass of wine. For a moment, they stayed like that, Edge enjoying the weight in his lap, the heavy warmth, and Bono content with being enjoyed, but it couldn’t last. Either a mouth was going to open and break the silence, or someone would give in and start copping a feel—those were the only two options that Edge could predict eventuating in the near future.

He chose the latter before the former could be thrust upon him, sliding his palm up along Bono’s thigh until he could easily drop his hand and take hold of one fleshy arse cheek, squeezing until he got the reaction he was waiting for.

It was only when Bono stopped grinding that he appeared to remember the glass in his hand, his smile turning crafty as he brought it between them, the blue of his eyes electric as he watched Edge take a dutiful sip.

“Are you thirsty?” Edge asked after making a show of swallowing his small mouthful.

“No.”

“Not even for this wine? I know it’s one you love.”

“Oh, I’ve had enough to keep me happy tonight. Besides, you prefer my inhibitions to be mostly sound during these situations, remember?” Bono said, pointedly raising an eyebrow.

He was right, although Edge could never quite recall how that had become a stipulation. God knows drunk Bono made for a very fun fuck, if a little sloppy. Maybe that was it?

But what was the point of playing if they didn’t change it up from time to time?

“Come on, just have one little drink,” Edge insisted, and when no response came he wrapped his fingers around the hand Bono was holding the glass with and took control of the situation. Or so he thought.

“ _Edge_ , I—” Bono started before cutting himself off with a laugh. “It’s yours, love. I poured it for you.”

“If it’s mine then I get to choose if I want to share it or not, and I do, so.” A quick pause and a sharp look might very well have been enough to get the message across, yet Edge still felt compelled to add, “Drink.”

What choice did Bono have? He drank, parting his lips for the glass being pressed against them, his gaze staying fixed firmly on Edge’s face the entire time, somehow looking both resigned to his fate and stubborn as all get out at the same time—an impressive feat, truth be told.

Upon pulling the glass back Edge immediately looked at the level of wine left, and though it was hard to be sure, he was pretty certain that Bono had managed to drink the least amount possible and make it look like art, like the wine would surely be gone in seconds flat had he been given more time.

Like he was completely committed to doing everything and anything that Edge asked of him, but in reality . . .

It seemed probable they were about two steps away from Bono becoming the little shit he was born to be. And as fun as that could be, there was only so much that Edge would be able to let slide before it started to look as though he was caving completely. “Drink the rest,” he instructed, receiving an actual fucking pout in response, though it quickly gave way to a grin.

“I’ve got an idea.”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me suggest it.”

“I know the sort of ideas that you come up with.”

“You’ll like this one, I promise.”

“B—”

“I’m not asking for much,” Bono insisted, then immediately caught himself. “Sorry.” He ducked his head before looking up through his eyelashes as though he were Lady Di herself. “We could share? That’s my idea. What do you think?”

“I already am sharing, and yet—”

“No, I mean . . .” he trailed off with a sigh, looking unsure of how to continue, and when nothing seemed to come to mind he gave up, sent a crooked smile Edge’s way, then drew the glass back towards his mouth.

It had all the hallmarks of obedience, but Edge knew better, given who he was dealing with. It didn’t feel right, even as he watched the last of the wine disappear into Bono’s mouth, his throat working briefly as he swallowed, as he stopped swallowing and leaned in closer. The empty glass fell forgotten against the couch, his fingertips coming up to press against Edge’s chin until the intent became clear, the word _no_ appearing to have momentarily fled, _yes_ quickly taking over.

Their lips met, stayed and then parted, a groan escaping from deep within Edge’s chest as the wine, turned warm by the inside of Bono’s mouth, dribbled onto his tongue, spilling over his chin when Bono turned that dribble into a beast of a different kind. It tasted like a foreign vintage this way, one that almost matched what had been in the glass but not quite, and Edge wanted more.

He tried to chase the last of it, but Bono got there first, licking and then sucking Edge’s chin until there was nothing left, his tongue hot against damp skin, hotter still against Edge’s own, their teeth bumping as they surged together before finding the right angle then losing it again, their hands straying, grasping, groping.

There was something about the way that Bono’s arse felt against fumbling hands as those hips rolled that made Edge want to lock the doors and never let him leave again, something about how he managed to slide his own hand between the non-existent space between them, the movement of his body rocking his fingers directly against Edge’s crotch, that almost warranted an official complaint being made. To who? To anyone who found themselves within earshot during the following days, week, month or year, because it wasn’t decent, nor was it right, any of it.

Where was his control? Slipping through his grasp, misplaced by the feel of Bono’s body against his, by his mouth, his tongue, his moan, and the way that he simply breathed against Edge’s lips when they broke apart for those necessary few seconds, a break that was initiated by Bono, as though it was his call to make. And then they came together once more, before Edge was ready for them to, a plan of attack not even close to being formulated, kissing in a way that he knew so well from in dreams and reality, losing himself only to be found far quicker than he could have ever hoped.

All it took to remind Edge again of who they were was Bono turning his head to expose his throat, an offer that was not to be passed on, that was made all the more alluring by the look in his eye, a wordless _please_ that placed their world firmly back on its axis.

His hand found the nape of Edge’s neck as though guidance was needed, his throat vibrating against Edge’s mouth with a moan at that first suck before giving way to a sound that belonged in a pornographic film, his fingernails digging in hard.

Edge believed in self-restraint. He told himself, time and time again, that he should never leave a mark.

But when had that ever stopped him?

He sucked until he had his fill, gripping Bono’s hair tightly as though him slipping away was a legitimate concern. But it was control that Edge was clinging to, and a firm hand that the game required from him, not rough enough to hurt but still cause an ache that made Bono’s breath shudder and his back arch in a way that was intimately familiar.

After drawing back Edge studied his handiwork for a breathless few seconds, taking in the shine of his own spit against Bono’s neck, a fresh red mark marring pale skin that wore colour so well. “Say it again,” he requested because it was expected (and because he wanted to), words that brought forth a smile on Bono’s face that closely resembled the same one he often wore while being fucked.

“I’m yours,” he murmured. “I’m all yours.”

“Have you been thinking about me?”

“All the time. You know how good you are at keeping me up at night, Edge, even when you’re not around.”

Edge knew, and it was knowledge that made him feel very powerful indeed. “I imagine it must be hard, not being on tour anymore,” he mused. “Not having me in the next room over to take care of you when you need it. It’s just not enough to lock yourself away in the bathroom, is it? It’s still only your hand and you know it, no matter how good your imagination is. I mean, you couldn’t even last three weeks before giving it all up and crawling back, B, and you rarely give up on anything. It must have been such a strain.”

Bono nodded as he leaned in, kissing Edge high against his cheekbone before pressing their foreheads together. “I missed it.”

“You missed me.”

“Yes.”

“You need me,” Edge said instead of what he really wanted to say. On a softer night he might even have written it on the bathroom mirror in lipstick— _I missed you too, so stay with me_ —but any notion of that had gone out the window when Bono dialled his number with purpose.

“I do.”

“I think it’s time we go upstairs. Don’t you?”

“Oh, love,” Bono said with a grin. “I’ve been waiting all night to hear you say that.”

Edge didn’t doubt it for a second. After all, he’d been waiting all night—for the past two and a half weeks, truthfully—for the chance to say those words. Yet he required one more kiss before putting his plan into action, and, as was often the case with them, one kiss turned into two, then four, and it continued on like that for a few minutes longer until they finally found it in themselves to break apart and finally drag their arses off of the couch.

He switched off the television and went to doublecheck the front door was locked while Bono returned the half-empty bottle of wine to the fridge. They met at the foot of the stairs, where a beat of silence passed between them before Bono leaned in close and sighed against Edge’s shoulder.

They made their way up the stairs faster than Edge would have liked, as while he was definitely looking forward to what was in their immediate future, he also was enjoying the warmth radiating from Bono as they crowded together, an arm around his waist, hips bumping, the look in his eye already telling the story of their night. It seemed that Bono was in a rush to get things going, though when they did reach the bedroom he lingered in the threshold, casting a glance towards the bed then looking back at Edge as though he were waiting for further instruction.

“Come on,” Edge said, brushing past Bono and straight on through the door. Behind him, there came a quick intake of breath that could have been the result of any number of things, knowing Bono. Their eyes met only when they approached the bed, a cautious smile on Bono’s face, even as his gaze held one big question mark. Really, he had become far too good at this game. “Take off your clothes and get on the bed.”

It turned into a bit of a show, naturally, with Bono’s own special version of a striptease that probably didn’t have a place in the bedroom on such a night, yet Edge wasn’t going to complain, given that it was a sight that he never got tired of seeing. It was over far sooner than many other times, Bono’s arse looking incredibly appealing as he crawled onto the bed to stretch out before turning his head and raising a single eyebrow, a come-on if Edge had ever seen one.

“What do you want?”

“Do you want me to say it again?”

 _Yes_ , Edge was tempted to reply _. Tell me again and again until my ego is pumped up well past the point of no return_. Instead, he simply smiled and asked, “How would you like to come tonight?”

Bono didn’t need long to consider his response. “From you fucking me, love.”

Edge was of two minds. It was hard not to feel _something_ after having those words spoken to him, whether that something was loved or appreciated or respected or so forth. But when dealing with a Bono who had done enough tonight to warrant a little withholding (the first rule of the game, which he’d written himself before asking Edge for his opinion), there was a very real chance that manipulation was in play, under the guise of a suggestive comment that made reason fly right out the window.

And it wasn’t like Bono was a scheming little shit who deserved suspicion thrown his way ninety-nine-point nine percent of the time, nor did he think that rules didn’t apply to him ( _Rule numero uno: Edge is well within his rights to punish if Bono is . . . a naughty, naughty boy_) but he was painfully clever and knew what he wanted in life. Edge, on the other hand, often became completely stupid when Bono was being charming, and gave in far too easily.

Not this time, though. No, standing his ground was something that Edge should be very passionate about during the entirety of this game, and the next, and time after that one, and so on. He was in charge. Supposedly.

“No.”

It obviously wasn’t what Bono had hoped to hear, but he didn’t dare complain, instead staying quiet as he thought things over.

“What do you want?” Edge asked again.

“What do you want me to want?”

It was a good answer. And Bono knew it, a pleased grin emerging even before Edge sat on the bed. Their hands briefly grasped against the covers then retreated, Bono’s back onto his stomach, Edge’s determined to explore. He stroked his fingertips along Bono’s inner thigh before sliding his palm back and forth, up past a jutting hipbone and then down again, not quite close enough to brush against where Bono really wanted to be touched. But his face told a familiar story nonetheless, his skin breaking out in goosebumps, and when Edge leaned in close he was met with an eager mouth and tongue, and when he pulled back a groan of frustration was quick to appear.

A second later he was leaning in once more, this time not to kiss but to whisper in Bono’s ear, “I want to watch you make yourself come,” before straightening to take in the reaction. Their eyes met, and Bono smiled, biting his lip. “Does that turn you on, baby? Knowing that I’m going to get off watching you touch yourself?”

An answer wasn’t really necessary, given that it was written across Bono’s face in bright, bold lettering, reading _yes, fuck yes_ , yet still he found it in himself to respond anyway. “You know it does.”

“Of course it does. We both know how much you love putting on a show.”

“I do. I live to entertain.”

“You’re happiest with an audience, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“But your usual audience doesn’t have you tonight, do they?”

“No.”

“Who does?”

“You do.”

Edge kissed Bono hard before pulling away to slide off the bed, not breaking their gaze as he took a few steps back to sit down in his chair. The only thing that could make the situation even better would be if he had a drink in his hand, but if the universe were to hand him everything he wanted then life would be mighty dull indeed. As it were, things were as close to perfect as they possibly could be, and that was more than good enough for Edge. “Go slow,” he instructed once completely settled in for the show.

Bono looked to be in the mood for fast, but he didn’t dare try and reason with Edge—a good choice on his part, given rule numero uno—although he appeared to have a thought on the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t voiced, his lips instead quickly meeting back in the middle to narrow, purse and then come apart once more, a tiny noise escaping at that first touch of fingers to his cock. It was the lightest of brushes that he allowed himself before turning his attention elsewhere, his touch featherlight as his fingertips slowly trailed upwards along his stomach and chest, stopping at his neck to circle the fresh red mark.

“Did you enjoy me putting that there?” Edge asked.

“Of course I did.”

“If you’re good, I might give you more.” He paused, taking in Bono’s reaction, the quick rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers twitched against his sternum. “Where else would you like me to mark you?”

“Wherever you—anywhere, love. Everywhere.”

“You’re being greedy. Narrow it down to one place, or I definitely won’t deliver on my promise.”

It was a playful threat that had two very different effects on Bono, his lower lip disappearing between his teeth as it sometimes did during such intimate moments, while the furrowing of his forehead indicated a brief bout of hard thinking as he weighed up his options. “My inner thigh.” His shoulders drew up in a lazy shrug, as though he thought it best to appear casual about the whole thing, but his expression betrayed that attempt completely. “High up.”

“How high?”

“Extremely.”

“You tart. You just want my mouth as close to your cock as possible, don’t you?”

Bono chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s not just that, I—”

“We’ll see how things go here. You might deserve a treat, you might not, it all depends on how you behave. Can you be good for me, B?”

“ _Good_ is my middle name, The Edge.”

“That was a _yes_ or _no_ question, not a smartarse one.”

“My mistake, I meant yes, of course.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Edge raised his hand in a simple gesture, biting back his laughter. “Go on then. Make me proud.”

Bono closed his eyes long enough to draw in a deep breath that was almost steady on the exhale— _almost_ —before opening them once more. A faint smile remained as he glanced over, keeping his gaze fixed on Edge as he continued touching himself. The small distance between them did nothing to dull that startling blue, the electricity that rushed through Edge like a shock, yet just like those mice caught in the midst of an experiment he kept coming back for more.

This man was going to be the death of him.

He shifted forward in his seat when Bono’s hand skittered through the hair on his chest to find his neck once more, and then his mouth, sucking briefly on the tip of one finger then drawing away, back down to his chest. There, he pinched and rolled his left nipple until it hardened beneath his touch, before treating his right to the same attention, a moan that sounded only slightly embellished for Edge’s benefit cutting through the still of the room, silence returning between them as Bono’s hand started its slow journey south.

It wasn’t his cock that he sought out, not at first, but his inner thighs, where he stroked the skin there with the same delicate care that one might use whilst petting a kitten. Back and forth he went, going higher and higher with each turn until finally admitting defeat and taking his cock in hand, hissing out a breath that sounded as though it held some baggage. How long had he been waiting for this moment? Two weeks? Two and a half?

It was different with an audience. It was always so much better.

“Slower,” Edge ordered when Bono’s strokes picked up the pace, smiling when his request was met, although the frustration was clear from both Bono’s expression and the sound he made. “We’ve got all night, B, there’s no need to rush.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts,” Edge cut in. “You might think you know exactly what you need, but you don’t. You know who does?”

“You do.”

“That’s right. So take it slow.” He paused as he watched Bono touch himself, waiting for the perfect moment to add, “You’re so hard for me, aren’t you, baby?”

It had the effect he hoped it would, Bono’s heels digging into the bed, even as his laughter, borne of dazed exasperation, bubbled out from his chest. “Oh, Jesus _Christ_ —”

“Slow, Bono. Slow down.” This time, Edge’s request wasn’t met as well as it should have been. _Rule numero dos, as written by The Edge: Edge is in charge and therefore Bono should fucking listen—a big ask, certainly, but to do the opposite would be very naughty indeed. For further explanation of what happens to naughty Bono’s, refer to rule numero uno_. “Is it really that hard to follow instructions?” Edge was up off the chair before Bono could even think to come up with a charming response. “Do you need me to show you how it should be done?” An eager nod was the only answer that came. “You want me to make you come?”

“Yes,” Bono breathed. “Please, love, you know I need all the help I can get.”

The bed dipped beneath Edge as he knelt on it, leaning in close to kiss Bono deeply before stretching out by his side. He briefly snagged a gold earring between his teeth then sucked on Bono’s earlobe, receiving a moan in response and a grasping hand against his that made Edge grin. A brilliant idea, getting up off his arse and climbing onto the bed, definitely one to be proud of. He waited for a torturous beat or two—because why the fuck not?—before taking Bono’s cock in hand and starting to slowly stroke.

“Is this what you wanted?”

For a moment it seemed as though he was beyond words, answering with the slightest of nods and a satisfied smile. And that just wouldn’t do, not when there were things that Edge needed to hear him say, phrases and stock sayings uttered in that particular tone that kept the façade going while also ruining Edge’s remaining brain cells. He opened his mouth to dig a little more, then closed it when Bono let out a moan, one that seemed to emerge deep from within his fucking soul, and kept on going, three seconds, four, on and on before finally ending. Forever the theatrical tart, that Bono.

It _probably_ answered Edge’s question better than words ever could, while also fucking him over completely. _And a fond farewell to you too, brain cells! Have fun wherever you’re heading off to, but I hope you know you’re not going to a better place, because there is no topping_ this.

The urge to throw it all in and fuck Bono into the mattress was growing stronger with each second that passed, made all the worse by the simple and necessary act of breathing that he had the gall to tease Edge with, that picked up the pace to match the quickening speed of his strokes. And the expression on Bono’s face, the glassy haze of his eyes as he looked right where he was supposed to, the curve of his lips, even the pinkness of his tongue as it darted out, as though it was searching for a taste that would make his toes curl completely . . .

His entire being seemed intent on forcing Edge to break and give him everything that he wanted.

But it wasn’t what he needed. Not according to the plan, anyway. Edge understood that. He knew better, apparently, even when he barely knew anything at all. There could only be one person steering the ship, only one in control.

“Baby,” he whispered, the quick turn of his wrist causing another moan. “If I had my way, you’d never leave this bed.” He traced a short line with his tongue along Bono’s jaw to chin to mouth, smiling as he felt one thigh begin to quake against his arm.

It started in Bono’s thighs before catching him completely, his entire body tensing and then trembling as he cried out, at first leaning toward Edge then attempting to pull away from the hand that was relentless in stroking him through the last of it. “Yeah,” Edge let out without meaning to, the only word that his brain could supply for those first few seconds until rhyme and reason came back into the fold. “Keep looking at me, I’ve got you.” He gave Bono’s cock one final stroke then drew his hand away and leaned into a kiss that was shakily returned at first, then vigorously.

Edge pulled back only when the urge to look became too overwhelming. And what a great fucking idea it was, allowing him to drink in Bono’s flushed skin, his _fuckmegood_ blue eyes, and his smile, his lips, everything about him. “You are so fucking gorgeous.”

That’s all it took for them to jump back into the fire with a kiss that started off hard and fast, before slowing down then turning heated once more. A weaker man might have stayed in it for as long as possible, and on some nights Edge had been that man, but not tonight. There was a more pressing matter that needed attending to, and it could only be ignored for so long.

He drew back and then started to shift far quicker than either of them were ready for, pulling himself up against the pillows into a lazy sitting position, and waiting.

To Bono’s credit, he caught on faster than anticipated, glancing up for confirmation and smirking when it was received. He didn’t fuck around while undoing Edge’s fly or drawing down the zipper, though a few seconds were spent rubbing Edge through his underwear before reaching in and freeing his erection.

It was like Bono had dug up a pile of gold, if the look in his eye was anything to go by as he shuffled into a better position on the bed, his right arm pressing snugly between his body and Edge’s stomach, his arse in plain view and tantalizingly close enough to reach. His skin felt as though it were on the outskirts of overheating, and it wasn’t just because the heater was cranked up on high.

It was exactly how Edge liked him to be.

“Wait.” It was an order that received a wide-eyed look in response, but Edge didn’t let that melt him in any way.

He gripped Bono by the chin—far gentler than he probably should have—and drew him up close, holding the gaze between them for a second or two before kissing him roughly, starting with a nip of teeth against his bottom lip and ending with more of the same.

When they broke apart, Bono was grinning like a blissed-out druggie, and that just wouldn’t do. This was serious time, and they were two very serious people, goddamnit. He was supposed to be _committing_.

Hollywood would never have him like this.

He was still smiling when Edge brought up his left hand to slip two fingers into his mouth. “Suck,” Edge said needlessly, a request that was met with the appropriate amount of eagerness. Bono’s tongue curled as though he actually was determined to make Edge proud, slicking his fingers with enough spit that they glistened beneath the overhead light after being removed.

Wearing a smile of his own, Edge reached out with his left hand, sliding his palm over the curve of Bono’s arse with the confidence of a man who had more right than even Bono himself to do so, then dipping between, using the pad of one slick finger to slowly circle his hole before sliding inside of him. “Edge . . .”

“Bono.” Edge gave him a _look_ that might have come close to putting the fear of God into anyone who wasn’t Bono . . . although probably not. “This is how it’s going to be.” He slipped in a second finger without waiting for a response, Bono’s sharp intake of breath giving him a damn good reason to grin.

“And you call me the naughty one.”

“Are you supposed to be talking right now, or doing something else?” Edge shot back. Briefly, Bono looked as though he were in possession of the greatest comeback known to man, but caught himself just in time, his mouth snapping shut.

Silence came between them for a short moment or four, the sound of Bono’s breathing as Edge’s fingers slowly worked inside of him the only noise to be heard. It was only when Bono jerked, those two fingers brushing against his prostate, that Edge thought it time to get the show back on the road. He lifted his free hand to settle in Bono’s hair, not to guide as they should have been well past that, but to simply rest there as an implicit reminder until he bent and took the head of Edge’s cock in his mouth.

He sucked lightly then pulled back long enough to flash a smile that actually had all the hallmarks of gratitude, briefly leaning up into the hand stroking his hair before properly getting on with it. ( _Rule numero tres: Bono should always be appreciative that Edge is giving him the time of day when he could instead be undertaking more important duties, such as cataloguing the various flora found in his backyard or being the master of his own domain_ ).

Bono had always been good at giving head, even that first time when his eagerness had made up for lack of experience, and that enthusiasm was yet to leave him—in fact, Edge was pretty certain that Bono got off on it more now than he had in the past, and that was saying something, given how it had been from the very start.

That enthusiasm seemed to waver only when Edge worked his fingers just right, forcing a warm huff of breath or a tiny gasp to break free, but for the most part Bono was intently focused on the task given to him, despite how sensitive he must have been.

He alternated at first, going from tapping Edge’s cock against his lips and cheek to sliding his tongue up along the entire length, teasing as much as he could get away with without facing repercussions. A minute or so of this was all that Edge could allow, although on another night he might have gladly let it continue, but it just wasn’t in the cards for tonight. No, he had committed to firm due to some recognized naughtiness, and that’s how it had to be.

Still, he enjoyed it while it lasted, petting Bono’s hair with his right hand, lazily fingering him with his left, letting out the occasional appreciative sound both for encouragement and because it felt damn good. Him pulling out his fingers to rub at Bono’s perineum appeared to be enough of a hint to push forward, a series of wet kisses being pressed against the length of Edge’s cock and onto the head before Bono took him into his mouth in one quick move, sliding down until his lips were near-flush against the base, lost within Edge’s pubic hair.

It took only a heartbeat for Bono to choke around him, pulling back completely to gasp for breath, his lips shining with spit, before pressing back in, this time taking it easier but by no means slower. He brought his hand in to fondle Edge’s balls only when Edge did the same to him, his moan vibrating beautifully and settling deep and low within as he sucked and mouthed, his tongue sliding, working, teasing the best way it knew how to.

A part of Edge wanted to stretch it out and make it last. Why speed through something that made him feel so good when he could instead enjoy it for as long as possible? But it was hard to ignore that other side of him, the one that had marked Bono for one reason, that even now still had Edge touching him just because he was able, that was actually itching to take control every which way that he could. And it wasn’t just for him, no, it was for them both.

Sometimes, that line between game and real life seemed to blur for Edge, and he often suspected he wasn’t alone in thinking that. Bono had picked up that phone for a reason, made the request with such ease, yet his tone had suggested so much more.

“Stop.” To Edge’s surprise, Bono immediately did just that, pulling back just enough to glance up with an expression that was more curious than confused. “Get off the bed. I want you kneeling.”

His reaction couldn’t have been more charming, one eyebrow going up as a wide grin appeared and quickly gave way to a laugh that sounded much higher than usual, yet retained all of the warmth. It wasn’t the response that Edge had hoped for. No, it was better, surpassing anything that he might have imagined. “Ooh, Mr The Edge—”

“ _Now_ , Bono,” Edge managed to snap out, turning away in an attempt to hide the smile that was trying to break on through. Somehow, this was enough to get Bono’s arse into gear, and after sliding off the bed from his side he even had the sense to walk around it and wait until Edge was standing before kneeling right at his feet.

It was a position that gave him a sense of power, a quiet thrill that rushed through him from head to toe before settling deep and low within. One of these days, he was going to have a frank word with himself about what that might mean, but not tonight. Not when Bono appeared just as exhilarated.

The seconds passed as Edge just stood there, feeling ten feet tall as he watched Bono avert his gaze as best as he could manage, though he couldn’t quite shake that smile from his face. It slipped away—although his eyes were still dancing—only when Edge’s fingers gripped his jaw and jerked his head up. “Look at me.”

There was a small pause, Bono licking his lips before answering, “Yes, Edge.”

“Don’t even think about looking away until I allow you to do so.”

“I won’t, you know me.”

“Good.” Edge stared down at him, waiting to see if Bono actually meant it. He could be such a little upstart sometimes, after all. But apparently not this time. Once satisfied, Edge raised his other hand and begun running both sets of fingers through Bono’s hair, keeping it gentle and soothing until a good half a minute had passed. “Open,” he instructed, locking his fingers together at the back of Bono’s head as those lips parted for him, a hand coming up long enough to guide his cock forward before disappearing once more.

At first, Edge kept his thrusts slow and shallow, rewarding Bono with a smile when that gaze stayed locked on and as intense as it had ever been. “Yeah, that’s good, baby, keep looking at me, I want to see . . .” he trailed off, unsure of how to finish that thought, and not needing to. Bono moaned around him as though so much more had been said, one hand coming up to hold Edge’s thigh, the other sliding up his leg and down again, a move that was almost sweet in nature, but for some weird and wonderful reason managed to ignite the fire within, switching Edge’s brain from _well, isn’t this nice?_ to _take precisely what you need and do it now, you idiot, nownownow!_

It was obvious that Bono wasn’t quite prepared for the pace to pick up like it did, suddenly and feverishly, yet he handled it so well that Edge was actually proud. And, somehow, Bono’s gaze still didn’t stray, though it did waver following one particular thrust that left Edge feeling guilty as all get out, even though he knew it was no big deal.

Bono could handle it. He could handle pretty much anything that Edge could think to throw at him, and he rarely complained. Not about this, but maybe about that, but presently he was taking it so, _so_ well, his fingers digging into Edge’s thigh, his lips only as slack as they should be, his tongue curling perfectly, and his eyes remaining fixed as his mouth was fucked.

There was no hope, not anymore, of Edge lasting, and he didn’t want to. Not now, when his skin was tingling and heated, that familiar ache spreading across his entire body instead of situating firmly within his groin area, although it was felt there far worse, a damning urge that made him want to scream in frustration and push forward, to hold Bono tightly until he was choking on it, no, he wanted to pull away and take matters into his own hand, or bury himself inside of Bono and fuck him hard and fast, and already Edge was able to imagine his come leaking out of that hole, because how many times had he seen it before? So many, but never enough, and he wanted it now, he wanted too much, and this was what he had, Bono’s mouth, Bono’s everything, he had him, _he had him . . ._

It took Edge by surprise, as it had a habit of doing, his orgasm rushing through him so quickly and so vividly that for a moment all he saw was red, a high-pitched whine bursting between his ears, and then he opened his eyes, the world coming back into focus and bringing with it relative quiet as he drew back only to give a few final shallow thrusts, chasing the last of it before pulling out of Bono’s mouth completely.

Together, they quickly attempted to get their breath back, Bono doing a better job of it than Edge ever could. He was a singer, after all, he knew the importance of good breath control, even if he didn’t always adhere to it. And when Edge finally did find it in himself to glance back down, he was pleased and a little overwhelmed to discover Bono still looking up at him, eyes gleaming.

“Alright.” Edge didn’t even try and fight the smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You can look away now.”

“Oh, Edge,” Bono said sweetly. “Why would I ever want to do something as silly as that?”


End file.
